Greg Cox - Godzilla - The Official Movie Novelization

And yet, above the din, he could still hear the MUTO’s shrieking howl.

The lights of San Francisco could be seen from the Saratoga , which continued to trail Godzilla at a safe distance. The monster’s immense dorsal fins sliced through the churning waves toward the coast, where a row of Navy LCS vessels had formed a blockade miles offshore. The Littoral Combat Ships, which were expressly designed for operations close to shore, were somewhat smaller, swifter and shallower than conventional frigates or destroyers, but still packed plenty of punch. Each vessel was armed with both 57mm guns and a full complement of surface-to-air missiles.

But would that be enough to deter Godzilla?

The warships held their fire as the fins approached. Searchlights lit up the night. In the Saratoga ’s war room, Serizawa and the others watched tensely in anticipation, waiting for Godzilla to rise up and reveal himself. Nobody expected the giant reptile to simply turn around in the face of the blockade, not with the male MUTO reportedly flying toward the city. The minutes ticked down toward a likely confrontation that Serizawa still had serious reservations about. He understood that Admiral Stenz and the U.S. military could hardly be expected to let such a formidable threat come ashore unopposed, but Serizawa remained unconvinced that challenging Godzilla was a good idea, and not just because of the many valiant lives that might be thrown away in a futile attempt to turn back an unstoppable force of nature. With the MUTOs still abroad, it might well be that obstructing Godzilla, if that was even possible, was not in the world’s best interests.

We may be making a dreadful mistake , he thought.

But then, just when the conflict appeared inevitable, the great fins suddenly descended, sinking beneath the frothing waves until they vanished from view. The Saratoga pitched as turbulence upset the waters ahead. Serizawa held on to the corner of a computerized workstation to keep his balance. Graham gasped in relief. Stenz frowned, but also looked relieved to a degree. Serizawa guessed that the admiral also had profoundly mixed feelings about throwing the combat ships up against Godzilla.

Glowing green sonar screens tracked the leviathan until his mammoth form dissolved into a thousand tiny pixels, broken up by static, and eventually disappeared from the screens altogether. Serizawa assumed that Godzilla had simply chosen to dive under the blockade, as he’d done with the fleet two days ago. That he was still heading for San Francisco Bay went without saying.

Perhaps it is just as well , he thought, although his heart went out to the innocent men, women, and children in the city. They had not asked for their home to become a meeting-place for monsters, and Serizawa had no illusions that Godzilla cared anything for the insignificant human lives between him and his prey. We are all just collateral damage now.

Captain Hampton rushed up to Stenz, clutching a printout. “The warhead transport just went missing,” he reported urgently. “The next closest, we’d have to fly in, but with the MUTOs’ sphere of influence, there’s no way we get one here in time.”

Stenz’s face turned ashen. “Get Air Force recovery teams out there. Find a weapon we can use!”

The rising sun gradually roused Ford from unconsciousness. His eyelids fluttered, blinking against the early morning light. As he slowly woke from restless dreams of flames and falling, he became aware of a gentle lapping sound nearby. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the idyllic sight of a solitary doe drinking peacefully from the waters of a muddy river delta. The deer turned its head towards Ford and for a moment their eyes met in silent communion, man and nature sharing the world in peace.

Then a loud noise overhead shattered the moment. Startled, the doe bounded off — past the smoking wreckage of a tank.

Flying low, two Air Force helicopters came in over a mountain ridge. A large heavy-lift Super Stallion was accompanied by a smaller escort chopper. The low-lying delta was strewn with the mangled remains of numerous vehicles and equipment washed down from further upstream. Crushed cars and trucks, both civilian and military, mixed with broken timbers, twisted steel beams, heavy artillery, and other debris less readily identifiable. The tranquil riverbed had become a junkyard and perhaps a graveyard as well. Charred and pulverized human remains could be glimpsed amidst the piled wreckage. Ford avoided looking at them, not wanting to spot Tre or Waltz or any of his other comrades among the dead.

Despite a pounding headache, he lifted his gaze to see at least a half-dozen Airmen abseil down from the hovering escort chopper. Dropping nimbly onto the ground, they spread out and started methodically scouring the ruins a bit further upstream. They moved briskly, intent on their mission.

Thank God , Ford thought.

He assumed the men were searching for survivors. Sitting up weakly, he tried to call out to the rescue team, who didn’t appear to have spotted him yet. His throat was parched and he felt completely wasted, worn out not just by his punishing trip down the river, but by the accumulated stress and exhaustion of the last few days. He could barely remember when he wasn’t about to killed by monsters or trying to make his way halfway across the world. A hoarse whisper escaped his cracked lips, but went unheard beneath the noisy rotors of the choppers. The rescue team kept on searching, not even looking in his direction.

Help , Ford thought. Over here.

Terrified that he might be overlooked and left behind, he forced himself to his feet and began to stagger through the ruins toward the searchers. A wave of dizziness assailed him and the violated landscape seemed to spin around him. He lurched clumsily from side to side, bumping into demolished vehicles and freight cars, which he occasionally grabbed onto for support. Soaked to the skin, he was cold and trembling and aching all over. Somewhere down the river, he’d lost his helmet and goggles along with his rifle. Muddy water dripped from his hair and down his neck. His mouth tasted of blood and silt. His boots squished with every slow, unsteady step.

Elle , he thought. Gotta keep going for Elle and Sam.

A filthy teddy bear, missing one arm, lay half-buried in the muck, next to the charred skeleton of an overturned station wagon. Something about this particular wreck jabbed at his heart, making him wince, but he was too groggy and debilitated to identify the memory, which quickly slipped away. He stumbled past the wagon, leaving the lost toy behind. His heavy boots dragged through the mud and splashed through puddles of icy mountain water. Random pieces of debris threatened to trip him.

He caught glimpses of the search team up ahead. The men were rooting through the wreckage several yards away, still oblivious to Ford’s presence. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t found any other survivors yet. Ford wondered if he was the only one left from the missile train. He tried again to call out, but could barely muster more than a squeak. Darkness encroached on his vision and he feared he was on the verge of passing out again.

I’m right here. Look this way.

His distress went unnoticed as one of the searchers found something among a heap of shattered steel trestles, railway cars, and other debris.

“We’ve got a live one!” he shouted excitedly. “Let’s move!”

In response, lines were lowered from the choppers and hooked into winches. Exhausted and out breath, Ford watched as the surrounding wreckage slid way to reveal not an injured survivor, but an intact nuclear warhead partially submerged in the mud. The missile’s massive booster rockets had been destroyed, but the cone-shaped re-entry vehicle bearing its lethal payload appeared to be still in one piece.